A Most Inconvenient Obsession
by mcj
Summary: The sequel to All I want for Christmas. A Father can grieve for what he has lost. But can he ever forgive the man who took his only daughter away from him?
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note - I hope a part of you connects with this little story which is the sequel to "All I want for Christmas." Most of the characters are my own ... some are established TB characters that have been explored in different ways ... and the rest is just to remind us of how important it is to have the support of a family. My heartfelt thanks to my beta reader Jaimi (Samantha Winchester) for her no nonsense advice, professionalism and encouragement . And now...on with the story _

* * *

"**A MOST INCONVENIENT OBSESSION"**

_**written by "mcj"**_

* * *

**PROLOGUE**

_London ... Christmas morning ...after a "most draining and difficult year"_

John Bradley Evans, Chief of the Air Staff RAF, gazed intently out the window and tried to find the strength to smile at the antics of the neighbor's brand new puppy. A Christmas present for the children, he had no doubt. One he hoped lasted a little longer than last year's cheap disaster. Who would ever forget those poor children begging him to climb all over his ice covered roof at half past six on Christmas morning? He still didn't believe he did it, let alone why he and Catherine felt so guilty about their chimney getting in the way of the neighbor's brand new kites.

"_Oh Dad, you did it because deep inside you're nothing but a soft touch," _she'd laughed through the phone that evening._ "What Jeff and I can't believe is you and Mum giving up your Christmas to drive all around London trying to find replacements."_

He watched the cute little bundle of fluff race around, hot on the heels of the children. He didn't know about being a soft touch but the dog was certainly a much more resilient gift choice. It had a lot better chance of making it through to January than the kites did; provided they trained it appropriately of course and the no-hoper of a father reinstated the fence.

John Evans shook his head as the no-hoper himself straggled his way into the snow covered yard, a cigarette dangling from one bony hand and a can of something alcoholic in the other.

Ewan Brown. He was thirty-seven now. Hadn't held down a decent job in the whole time he'd known him and that had been the best part of the last fourteen years. John hadn't liked the man from the very first moment that he'd met him and he'd liked him even less when he'd started taking more than a "friendly interest" in his daughter, Lucille.

"_Don't be so ridiculous, Dad!" _The past came back to haunt him._ "You don't have to worry about Ewan Brown asking me over for dinner tonight, tomorrow night or any other night. Every single move he makes can be viewed right from the comfort of your bedroom window."_

Two warm brown eyes had filled with mischief and she'd thrown a wink in the direction of her mother. She knew exactly what would raise his blood pressure when it came to involving herself a man he didn't like and she had no hesitation in doing it every single chance she got.

"_Until he pulls the curtains across, of course, and leaves you in the dark guessing what we're doing_."

A badly suppressed giggle followed by a great big, impulsive hug. Living life every day to the fullest had always been the essence of Lucille's being. Half the time she drove him crazy with worry, yet somehow, even back then, he didn't want life to be any other way.

"_So _w_hat are you going to do about me and Ewan then, Dad_?" the teasing had continued._ "Burst through his front door demanding that I come home with you?"_

"Lucille, you know that's _exactly_ what I'll do," he'd wanted to growl right back; but no matter how many times he'd tried to say it, the words had simply refused to come out. He could never be stern when it came to his Lucy, no matter what wild or outrageous things she tried. She'd won his heart from the day Catherine had brought her into the world and he'd been a hopelessly indulgent father ever since.

All of a sudden he felt his throat catch.

The day Catherine brought her into the world… her first cry ...he still remembered it… how much he'd longed for it ... lived for it… treasured it... how much it had meant to him to be the father of a child after focusing on his career in the services for so long. He hadn't been able to stop the tears rolling down his cheeks as he'd cradled his baby daughter in his arms for the first time. All he'd wanted to do that day was protect her and be the only man to ever mellow in her sweet innocence.

John Evans swallowed bitterly and returned to the unhappy world of his present. The scene outside the window blurred.

He would never hold his precious Lucy in the safety of his arms again. He would never see her smile at him or be worried sick over something she had only meant to be a joke. All he had left of Lucy was a memory and a pain he had endured in silence, all day, every day, for the past nine months.

"_Talk about it,"_ people said to him.

_"Open up to someone, John, and try to let it go."_

_"Share it."_

"_I'm so sorry to hear about your loss." _

"_oh John, she was a lovely girl."_

Sometimes he wished he could talk about it. Say what he really wanted to say. Share his grief with someone, in the hope that somehow it might help.

But he couldn't.

He couldn't share how he felt about losing Lucy with anyone, not even his beloved Catherine with whom he had always shared everything.

The bitterness continued to rear up.

There wasn't much to say, anyhow. It was over and he knew how he felt.

He should never have allowed Tracy to mellow in Lucy's sweet perfection. He should never have agreed to let her go to Houston to be with him. He should have been stronger in his resolve that the thing she had for Tracy was nothing more than an inconvenient obsession. He knew back then that it would only end up in tears.

But he hadn't been strong enough.

She'd wound him around her finger like she always did until he finally gave in to his reservations about Tracy and agreed to let her go.

And now, courtesy of Tracy, his only daughter was gone.

John tried to curb his resentment and see things Catherine's way. Catherine kept saying how much Tracy had loved her; that they'd had eleven of the most wonderful years together and had given life to five little boys. Catherine said Tracy wasn't to blame for what had happened. Even Lucy's doctor didn't know there was a complication with the unborn child until her labor had gone too far. Catherine said it was Christmas and the very least they could do was to contact "poor Jeff" and see how he was coping with the children.

"John," she'd pleaded. "He must be finding things so hard."

Unlike Catherine, who obviously seemed to have accepted it, he wasn't prepared to give Jeff Tracy the benefit of the doubt about anything. A part of him would always blame Tracy for what had happened to his daughter. Five children; the last two less than thirteen months apart...Tracy should have had more sense...given her time to recover.

But no…

…not Tracy.

Everything had just been so easy for him with Lucille, right from the very beginning.

Tracy had walked in, said a few words, and in less than half an hour had stolen Lucy's heart. Tracy had taken her to the States, where his star-studded career made the headlines while she remained quietly supportive in the background. Tracy had taken her innocence away and replaced it with the responsibility of coping with one child after another after another.

And Tracy had been the one who had called at half past four in the morning last March to tell him that his only daughter had died.

No, he decided, lifting his chin and staring back out the window; not even the season of peace and goodwill could erase how he felt about Jeff Tracy.

The subtle scent of perfume and the brush of gentle fingertips distracted him from his negative thoughts. The light caress to his neck was welcome, even though it meant that he was no longer alone.

"Here you are," she observed in her quiet, gentle tone. "I was beginning to wonder what had happened to you, John."

John glanced sideways and acknowledged the slightly built figure of his dear wife, Catherine. Despite his preoccupation with his feelings about Tracy, it was hard not to appreciate how attractive she was for a woman who was almost fifty-eight years old.

He berated himself. Even if Catherine wasn't attractive, there was a beauty inside her that he'd fallen in love with a very long time ago. He supposed he'd been rather remiss of late for failing to notice it. It wasn't as if Catherine had changed at all.

She'd made a special effort for Christmas Day, swapping her signature wardrobe of everything black for a pretty white embroidered dress. The dress was simple and child-like, making her appear much younger than she was. Even her hair, which she always kept tied back so severely, was brushed to tumble loose around her narrow shoulders. It brushed her face and highlighted her features in a delicate chestnut and pepper colored frame. She looked lovely.

Any other Christmas day he'd tweak her chin and tease her. Ask why the wife of such a prominent man chose to hide herself behind "such terribly discreet clothing" every day of the year when she could do so much for his career in something like that.

But not today…

He didn't feel like it today.

He wasn't up to teasing anyone about anything. All he could think about was how he'd lost Lucy.

"You look very nice, dear." He finally struggled out the words. "Your dress ...is it something new?" The question was followed with a faint and half-hearted smile and another glance out the frosty window.

Catherine Evans failed to return the gesture. Her heart sank as she looked down at the dress she had selected that morning from the back of her cluttered wardrobe. All morning she had been hoping John would at least recognize it or try to remember its significance.

She waited a few more minutes in case the realization dawned.

When it didn't, she knew it was time to give up.

It seemed that John had chosen to forget everything about that night ... how happy Lucy had been ... how much she'd clearly loved Jeff... how wrong it had seemed to be to worry that the two of them wanted to be together.

"No, John the dress isn't new," she replied, running her hands over the fabric in disappointment. "It just hasn't been worn in a very long time, that's all."

"Oh? It it still looks very nice on you, Catherine; very nice indeed."

The reply was genuine but distant, and the far-away look in his eyes indicated she had lost him to his thoughts already. It didn't take much these days to lose John to the lonely, grey world of his grieving. He'd distanced himself from everyone since the day of Lucy's funeral and nothing anyone had tried could get him to come back to them.

"_Well, my darling … one thing's for sure … you'll have to try everything before you finally decide to give up on him. After all, you did say "I do" against my advice, and you _**have**_ been married to the man for the best part of thirty seven years." _

Abigail Phillips, her mother. She was the one who'd reminded her about the dress.

_"John can't help but snap out of it when he remembers what happened when you last wore that," _she'd said in her usual matter-of-fact manner._ "But you'll need to put a bigger smile on your face, Catherine, and for goodness sake, so something about that hair."_

Catherine couldn't believe she'd actually hoped it would work. Wearing a dress that reminded her of happier times had been a ridiculous idea. All she'd managed to do was dredge up her own memories of the daughter that she'd lost and the poor young man on the other side of the world left to cope alone with their five small children.

_"John."_

"Mmmm?"

_"David's downstairs."_

"David?"

"_Our son."_

"Oh, yes, of course. David. He made it back from Oxford, then?"

_"Yes, and he's waiting downstairs to see you."_

"I'm glad that he could make it."

"_Mum's here too. She's brought us over a Christmas cake and a nice bottle of brandy."_

Catherine's mother loved a brandy no matter time of the day or night it was and no amount of hinting would ever stop her from bringing along a bottle of the stuff, pretending it was one of the Christmas presents. Catherine had hoped the reference to the brandy might work. John hated it when her mother got a few too many brandies under her belt. He complained she was far too direct the moment the top came off the bottle, and nine times out of ten he seemed to find himself on the receiving end of whatever she was being direct about. Even a little anger would be better than nothing.

_"John?"_ Catherine queried. _"Did you hear me about the brandy?"_

"No, thank you. I really don't care for any brandy."

"_John…" _

"You know, Catherine; that dog down there should at least outlast the kites."

_"John, please." _She began to choke back her own tears of disappointment_. "Come down and talk to David…"_

"It's a pedigreed dog, you know. Don't know how Brown found the money to pay for it, do you? Drinks way too much…smokes…I don't know what Lucille ever saw in him."

_"John…"_

"Stole it, most probably. Don't you think I'm right?"

When she'd woken this morning, Catherine had hoped that this would be the day when there were no more tears left to shed. But now as she looked at the vacant expression on the face of her husband, she could feel them making their way to the surface again. Before she knew it, they'd overflowed.

How much longer would she have to feel her way alone through this maze of grief and dreadful sadness? Lucy's death had drained her. She'd lost all contact with her grandchildren. Now John was sailing deeper and deeper into the sea of his own denial and she knew that she was losing him, too.

She wiped her face and moved towards the door. Like her mother had said, she'd been married to John Evans for a very long time and it wasn't fair to give up on him yet.

She would have to think of something else to help him accept that what had happened to Lucy wasn't Jeff's fault. Maybe she could finally convince him to make the call to ask after the children. In the meantime, she would have to find the courage to be happy on Christmas Day. David would understand that his father wasn't "feeling well," and help her in the kitchen with the turkey. Her mother would have no hesitation in polishing off the brandy before falling asleep on the lounge. The only time she supposed she would start to feel vulnerable was at nine o'clock in the evening, when their new vid-phone remained still.

There would be no call this year. Their precious Lucille was gone.

How could John not remember the dress?

How could he have forgotten the way his eyes had held hers?

How could he ignore the memories of how happy Lucy had been, how much in love, how determined she was to make things work?

The night a handsome young astronaut named Tracy came to their home for dinner…


	2. Chapter 2

_Author's Note - We now move back in time ... mcj_

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"**A MOST INCONVENIENT OBSESSION" **

** 'Chapter One'**

* * *

_London ... England ... eleven and a half years before … _

Abigail Phillips held her breath and gripped the seat for dear life as the cab rounded the corner and weaved its way along the neat tree-lined street. She made a mental note to ask some serious questions about driver capability when she got back home in the morning. This man certainly didn't lead her to believe too much attention was being paid to it. It would have been much less risky driving the twenty- four miles herself.

Reality dawned.

Well, maybe not.

She hadn't driven a car for almost six years; not since her fifty-ninth birthday when she'd backed the Bentley into the front of her son-in-law's brand new Mercedes and paralysed his travelling arrangements for the next two weeks.

_The bloody brandy... _

That was the cause of it, John Evans had insisted and his face was bright red with fury as he said it. It didn't matter if this _was_ the last birthday she got to celebrate before the downward spiral into her sixties. She drank far too much, too quick and too often, and when she did, she should have had more sense than to get behind the bloody wheel of a car.

Abigail frowned.

Two little brandies and a woman was the enemy. The one indulgence she really enjoyed was always magnified out of all proportion whenever the self-righteous John Evans was around. It was her eyesight that had caused the accident, she'd insisted, not the brandy, and she wasn't about to jump on the wagon for the rest of her life because of a little bit of damage to a car.

"_A little bit of damage_?" John had hyperventilated, throwing his arms up in the air in frustration. "As far as I'm concerned, Abigail, whether you're half-blind or half-drunk, you shouldn't be behind the wheel of any sort of motor vehicle!"

There hadn't been much to say after that.

And so she'd given up her licence, parked the Bentley in the garage for good and had elected to travel about by "other means." It had sometimes meant for interesting experiences; in fact she'd had quite a few entertaining episodes with cab drivers over the years. Sitting in the back seat allowed one to see life from a totally different perspective. She would never have seen half the things she had if she'd been concentrating hard on the road. She'd have completely missed her grandson, David, kissing his young lady on a nearby street corner for one thing, and she would never have seen Lucille hand in hand with Jeff Tracy when her parents were under the impression she was spending the evening with a "friend."

Now there was an interesting situation.

Catherine, poor thing, thought she was telling her something new when she said she was really concerned that Lucille was becoming far too involved with the high-profile young American astronaut.

"Involved," was a bit of an understatement to Abigail; considering not so long ago she had observed her granddaughter entering a hotel with the young man at half past ten in the evening. However, for Catherine's sake, she'd made an effort to sympathise with her concerns and pretended to be surprised things were escalating in the relationship.

"That's number thirty-eight there," she pointed officiously, guiding the driver in towards the curb. "The brick one, please; with the roses." The driver obliged by gliding the car to a stop and offering her a discount on the fare.

She alighted from the cab and stood outside on the pavement for a few moments, inhaling the wonderful scent of the May air.

As always, the Evans house looked immaculate. John had been excelling himself again, judging by the perfection of the garden. The lawn was cut and the hedges painstakingly trimmed. Pink and white roses lined the neat, winding pathways. It was a far contrast to the pathetic efforts of the next door neighbor, whose house looked like it was about to fall down. The grass over there didn't look like it lived in fear of anything, let alone the threat of a lawn mower.

Abigail sniffed and opened the gate. The Brown family would never change and there was nothing one could do when it came to the lack of standards of the neighbors. She was surprised that John had even continued to live in the house where he'd grown up once he'd been appointed as Chief of the Air Staff. Most of "that kind" made a point of residing in "much better neighborhoods." Still, that was John Evans, she supposed.

"Over here, Gran!"

The voice echoed from underneath the bonnet of a rusty old car parked precariously at the bottom of the driveway. It didn't take long for a tall lanky body and mop of wild chestnut hair to appear, identifying voice as her grandson's.

"Mum didn't tell me you were coming over today," he said, wiping his hands with an oil-stained rag. "Do you want me to take your bag inside?"

The offer was followed with an affectionate kiss and a hug.

"No thank you, David. For once it's not heavy." She indicated the well-worn overnight case. "What on earth are you doing at home at this time of the day, anyway? Shouldn't you be down at the university right now, doing whatever it is you're supposed to be doing?"

David Evans shrugged his shoulders. The non-committal approach was the best one to adopt whenever he was interrogated. His attitude towards his studies was a constant source of disagreement with his father and he didn't want to extend that pain by inviting a similar lecture from his grandmother.

"Ah, Gran, you know how it is. I was out late again last night and didn't feel too much like going to lectures. Besides, Ewan's offered to come over later on this afternoon to help me give the old girl a little bit of love and attention."

He patted his prize possession and followed it up with a long and loving sweep of the rag. At eighteen and in his first year of university, the fourth hand Mercedes with the oversized muffler was the pride and joy of his life.

Abigail nodded in understanding. "I see. So in other words David, you're not doing what you should be so Ewan Brown can come over and help you soup up the motor."

David grinned. "If you put it that way, I suppose that's it."

"Mmmm. That's not going to please your father."

Abigail went on to suggest that it might be a good idea to make sure all the love and attention to the car was well and truly imparted before his father managed to drive in through the gate. There was a lot going on in the Air Force at the moment and it wouldn't take much for his father to crack.

David reddened and heeded the warning.

"Yes, good move. He's not too happy with me at the moment."

Abigail gave him a serious nod. She knew how much trouble David got into with his father, particularly when he was being frivolous about the importance of his studies. She was sure that he was expecting David's four year degree to be a repeat of the tumultuous experience they'd had with Lucille. Even now, they were all still figuring out how she'd ended up graduating with honours degrees in literature and music.

"So, how about you give me the heads up, Gran? What's she about to do to us this time?"

The question came out naturally, so naturally in fact that Abigail Phillips found it hard to act surprised.

"Who?" she asked; trying to sound surprised, anyway.

David gave her a knowing look before folding his arms and leaning against the car. "_Who else?_ Big sister Luce, that's _who_."

No-one could ever tell how much David knew behind those wild good looks. He and Lucy had always been close and he was very careful not to give anything away when it had something to do with his sister.

"What makes you say Lucille is about to do something?" she asked him.

David shook his head and simply smiled. "Gran it's OK for you to spill. We all know Mum invites you to have dinner and stay the night when Lucy's about to do something they don't want her to do."

Before she had the opportunity to comment, he began reciting some recent examples. There was the time when Lucy had wanted to drop out of university; then her crazy plan to move in with her old friend Ewan Brown. Not to mention then wanting to drop out of university again; followed by aspirations of a career as a concert pianist ... and just when she'd finally sorted what she wanted to do with herself and had found a decent job... going all weak at the knees at the very mention of some astronaut from Kansas called Jeff Tracy.

"Mum knows Luce listens to you, Gran. I don't know what we'd do if you weren't around to set her straight." Two rows of pearly white teeth flashed. "You're the epitome of wisdom and common sense," he ended.

Abigail scoffed at ruffled his hair. Who was he trying to fool with that? She liked the bit about common sense but she drew the line when it came to having wisdom. David seemed to have completely forgotten what happened the last time she came to dinner with the purpose of talking Lucille out of her latest plan.

"Your sister didn't listen to what anyone had to say that night as I remember.. and that included me. She ended up going to Paris anyway. _And_ …" she emphasised. "… I believe the young Captain Tracy paid a very high price for her to stay the night in the same hotel."

David smirked. How could anyone have forgotten the uproar that little event had caused? Speculation still ran high between his parents as to what happened in Paris and if it was going to make its way into the papers.

"Yes, but Gran…" he pointed out, "… even_ I_ could see from the look on your face, that you really hoped that she would go."

Abigail said nothing. She didn't think it was appropriate to admit to David that she had been secretly delighted when Lucille had bubbled over with the news she'd been invited to have dinner in Paris with the young American astronaut. Unlike Catherine and John, Abigail hadn't seen the slightest thing wrong with it. They were simply two young people who had only just met and from what she had read about Jeff Tracy so far, he seemed to be a very level-headed, stable young man.

Catherine, of course, was nothing but worried and had tried to make Lucille believe Tracy was only being polite when he'd extended the unexpected invitation.

_"No__,__ Mum. You're wrong," _Lucille had insisted. _"He wasn't just being polite when he invited me. He wouldn't ask me to go all the way to Paris if he didn't want to see me again."_

John hadn't only just worried. He'd rumbled at Lucille loud and long. Tracy might be stable and there was no doubt at all that he had a very bright future, but he was also twenty-five years old and a long way from home. He didn't want to read about his daughter in a gossip column or have to answer anyone's questions about how much they were really involved.

It had been the completely wrong thing to say to Lucy. Abigail remembered how quickly she'd retaliated, more determined than ever to explain why she wanted to go.

_"Dad, that's a really unfair thing to say. You don't know anything about Jeff. What makes you think me having dinner with him is going to end up in a newspaper?"_

Then it had been John's turn to stand up.

_"Experience tells me, Lucille, that's what," _he'd warned, looking down at her with exactly the same amount of determination._ "He's big news at the moment and no-one knows quite what to make of him. And with the review of my appointment on the horizon at the moment I'd prefer you didn't involve yourself in helping them make up their minds__.__" _

Wrong again. Lucy hadn't been about to let anyone change her mind about her first impressions of Jeff Tracy.

"_Dad, you're over-reacting just like you__ always do__.__ Your re-appointment has nothing to do with Jeff being a genuine man. __"_

Abigail flinched at the memory.

The Evans household had been in uproar the last time she'd received an invitation from Catherine to have dinner with the family. Lucille couldn't understand why her father didn't want her to get to know Tracy better. John couldn't get his head around the fact that maybe Lucille had matured enough to attract the right kind of man.

Five months later, the household was in uproar all over again.

Abigail glanced tentatively in the direction of the house.

David was right. There _was _a reason Catherine had invited her to have dinner with them tonight.

Last night, when David had been out with his friends, Lucille had dropped the bombshell on her parents about the future.

Today, Jeff Tracy was flying back into London.

And John Evans was more determined than ever that this most inconvenient obsession should end

* * *

Lucy Evans couldn't remember a time when she'd ever felt so happy.

All right, she could remember another time, she supposed, but at that moment she'd been too absorbed in what was happening to assess whether or not she was feeling happy. He'd melted her right from the inside out, the night he hesitantly confessed he had fallen in love with her and then gently pressed his lips to hers. Until that night, he'd only ever held her hand and made her laugh with his wonderful conversation.

Her warm brown eyes were filled with vitality as they scanned the grey London sky.

Jeff would be flying in over London any moment now.

ETA: twelve hundred hours.

"Estimated time of arrival," she recited out loud.

She knew it would hardly be an estimate. If Captain Tracy gave an ETA of twelve hundred hours, she could guarantee the clock above her head would read exactly twelve hundred hours when the brand new jet he'd been commissioned to trial flared in across the London sky. Jeff was nothing short of a perfectionist when it came to flying aircraft.

She sighed with contentment. She loved everything about his perfection.

The sigh was soon replaced with her customary, mischievous grin. But would he do what she'd asked him to do when he _did_ fly the jet over London?

A part of her wanted to believe he would do anything for her, even break away from the other jets to fly past the window in her honour. The other part of her knew that he wouldn't dare consider compromising his hard-earned reputation. Jeff took his new commission in the World Space Agency seriously and was professional right to the core.

Lucy's smile faded.

Only because he knew he had to. The Space Agency was making very sure that each and every move of their special young recruit was carefully and closely monitored. He had been instrumental in securing their latest round of funding for the moon colonisation and they couldn't afford for anything to go wrong.

She took a deep breath to steady herself as the clock moved on to 11:56.

She could hardly wait to see Jeff again. Even though he called her as often as his schedule would allow, it wasn't the same as being with him in person.

Her whole body began to tingle with anticipation.

She lived for the electricity which sparked between them simply by his sheer physical presence. She loved to see him blush when she caught him scanning the length of her body with his dark blue eyes. She wanted to be overcome by the feeling of breathlessness as his long hand traced thoughtfully down the contours of her face; a hand that went no further; despite her body's non-verbal invitation...

...a hand that she knew would one day guide that special rocket ship to the moon.

Her brown eyes lifted again to the sky.

She was sure her parents would eventually understand that all she wanted to do was be with Jeff. They were meant to be together.

She just knew it.

Even though they lived on opposite sides of the world and had only met four times.


	3. Chapter 3

**"A MOST INCONVENIENT OBSESSION" **

**'CHAPTER TWO'**

* * *

Catherine Evans hadn't stopped crying from the moment she saw her mother, and for once in her life Abigail Phillips didn't know what to say.

"She just came out and said it to us, Mum," Catherine sniffled, staring into the steaming hot tea in front of her. Her hands clenched and unclenched around the cup. "She told us she wanted to be with him, and she was going to Houston as soon as she could arrange it. She said that she'd be fine over there without us and hoped that we'd understand."

Her lips trembled noticeably; a fresh wave of tears threatening to fall from her swollen, red-rimmed eyes.

"Oh Mum, John and I can't let her run off and ruin her life like this," she heaved into the tiny reflection. "She hardly even knows the man."

The tears soon spilled over, tracing the already well-worn path down the middle of her blotchy face.

Abigail frowned and had to admit she agreed. A private conversation at a military reception, a dinner date, and a few stolen moments in between public relations sessions, hardly met the criteria of her grand-daughter knowing any man well. It didn't help that John was the only one who had ever really met Jeff Tracy, and so far he was painting a less than complimentary picture of the high profile young astronaut from Kansas.

Abigail shifted her weight in the chair so she could lean forward to take one of Catherine's hands. Listening had never been one of her specialities; she was a person who went headlong into action in a crisis; however this time she wasn't sure if there was anything else she could do _but _listen. She had never seen Catherine this upset about anything.

"John forgot himself and told her that he was not going to stand by and let her make the biggest mistake of her life," Catherine stumbled on. "He said she'd get over him just like she got over Ewan Brown. Lucy got so upset when John compared Jeff to Ewan. They had the most terrible row. Mum, it was awful." Her hand twisted beneath Abigail's as if reliving every word.

Abigail squeezed it in sympathy and gently encouraged her to drink her tea. She needed to calm down. Crying wouldn't make the situation any better and she should know from experience that it wasn't about to make Lucy change her mind.

Catherine stared blankly at the wall and wondered how anyone, let alone her own mother, could expect her to be calm in a situation like this. Thanks to John's less than tactful explosion, Lucy was more determined than ever to join Jeff Tracy in Houston now. Houston was on the other side of the world. They had no family or friends there; nowhere for Lucy to turn for help if things suddenly turned sour. He might not like her headstrong, stubborn ways once he got to know her better. Then what was she going to do?

Worse still, what if it turned out Lucy decided she didn't like _him_? What if he was selfish or self-absorbed? Lucy detested those sorts of people. Catherine knew she did.

And then there was the other side of it; the side she had worried about the moment Lucy had caught Jeff Tracy's eye. He was twenty-five years old. John said he'd been in the Air Force. What if he expected more from Lucy than what she was prepared to give him? Tried to push her into some sort of marriage he found convenient? How long would something like that be realistically expected to last?

All of a sudden Catherine's tear-stained face went white.

Her breath caught in her throat as she contemplated it.

Maybe that was the reason Lucy refused to talk about the night she joined him for dinner in Paris. Maybe that was why she had made the decision to go to Houston so suddenly and so quickly.

"Oh, Mum ..." she whispered, almost paralysed. "... You don't think …"

Abigail's mouth opened and closed, once again stunned into complete silence. Now Catherine was really over-reacting. Lucille might be headstrong and wilful but she was far too sensible to let something like that happen.

The image reared up.

Abigail remembered the night she saw the tall young man in the navy blue uniform, hand in hand on the hotel steps with her grand-daughter.

They were going inside together.

It was half past ten in the evening.

He was handsome.

She was besotted.

Abigail rose to her feet, pushing down the uneasy feeling in her stomach.

"Don't be so absurd, Catherine. Now where on earth has John hidden the brandy?"

* * *

The flight definitely hadn't gone well, and Jeff Tracy was starting to wonder if his new sophisticated training in the Space Agency was beginning to alter his perceptions. Before he took his leave from the Air Force, flying an aircraft, any aircraft at top speed was his idea of being in paradise. Today, it didn't feel like he was even in control of one. There was no rush, no sense of exhilaration, no adrenalin...nothing. The whole thing had left him feeling nothing but completely bored.

He shrugged and threw his cap down on the spare bed in his hotel room. Maybe he'd outgrown the jets or something. The challenge of the Agency simulators had done a lot of crazy things to him lately. He had no idea of speed for one thing. His orientation seemed way off target, too. Then there was the most annoying thing of all; his blatant inability this afternoon to pinpoint an accurate ETA of his aircraft.

12:03.

The miscalculation really had him peeved.

He loosened his tie and caught his reflection in the mirror opposite the bed. Hell; what was going on withhim at the moment?

In the old days, miscalculation of any description would have landed him nose down, tail up on the ground in front of his commander. It would also have landed him an order to fly defence for a couple of weeks until he lost his cockiness and lifted his game. God, he'd hated flying defence when he was cutting it in Red Flag. Defence always drove the message home. There was no room in the air for mediocrity, ever. Mediocrity could cost a man his life.

The tie now joined the signature cap on the bed; closely followed by his dress jacket and belt. He stared down at the distinctive insignia on the jacket for a few minutes almost as if it didn't belong to him.

Captain Jefferson G Tracy...World Space Agency

It was also his new reality.

Whether it had been his life-long dream or not, he knew for a fact that life in the Agency was his problem. After six months, he was still trying to adjust to the publicity of being the new high-profile recruit in the latest American space program. He wasn't coping well with it at all.

It wasn't as if he disliked working for the Agency. It was everything he'd hoped it would be and more. No-one could even begin to imagine the exposure he was being given to the most advanced technology in the world. It was nothing short of amazing for him and he learnt so many incredible things each day.

It was the rest of it that had started to drive him crazy; all the hype and personal invasion of his family background. Someone, somewhere always needed to know just that little bit more about how the son of a quietly spoken Kansas wheat farmer managed to find his way into the space program. He didn't know what to tell them.

Fresh out of Officer Training School and into the first Middle Eastern war...

...a medal for bravery at the age of twenty five...

...an interview, when he'd let down his guard.

Less than forty eight hours after professing his lifelong dream was to go into space, he'd received the call he'd never honestly believed he would get. They were looking for someone just like him to be the new face of the World Space Agency. If he was prepared to do a little PR work he could be guaranteed instant entry and be fast tracked straight into space.

Of course he'd accepted. He didn't even ask why they'd chosen him. The PR didn't appeal to him but after some thought, he figured a couple of photographs was a pretty small price to pay to achieve something which, until now, had only ever been a dream. It had certainly started off like that, but more and more his training was being interrupted by the expectation to attend cocktail parties, open shopping malls and meet with foreign diplomats. To make matters worse, the people he met at those things somehow had the impression he'd already been into space.

"Tell me what it's like."

He wished he knew.

No wonder he felt antsy half the time.

"Tracy, you simply have to learn to handle those types of questions," was the less than helpful advice of his superiors. "You are very well aware that this new lunar mission's the most controversial one in decades. Of course people are curious about the whole thing and what the new boy is supposed to be able to do."

The new boy...

Six months into his training, the title sounded more like an insult than a compliment. It also really pissed him off. Despite the fact the proposed colonisation of the moon was finally off the front pages, he sometimes wished he'd decided to turn the prized commission down.

The Space Agency was impressive but he missed the challenge of the fighter jets. Even though he was being subjected to speeds he'd only ever dreamed about, he still longed for the dog-fights and the rush of flying hard and fast to win. No matter what they said or how many times he was destined to board a rocket ship headed for the moon, he'd earned his reputation flying the jets. They would always be his first and greatest love.

His face softened.

At least they were one of his greatest loves.

Lucy Evans.

Her name was every bit as beautiful as she was.

Lucy had been more than understanding at his predicament this afternoon when he'd flown the jet in over London. It wasn't easy trying to explain over a cell phone why he couldn't keep his promises even though he'd have loved to oblige. The idea of cutting loose and showing her what "JT" could really do rather appealed to his reckless side. However, duty said there was an appropriate time and a place for everything. Breaking rank was irresponsible and it was his father, not the military, who had taught him that a man couldn't afford to be irresponsible.

Jeff allowed himself to stretch out on the bed, mindful of how tired he was after the flight and the need to allow himself to sleep. He closed his eyes, happy to forget about jets and ETAs for a while and only think about Lucy as he drifted.

He wished he could have managed to give her more than five minutes of his time when she'd called. She was much more interesting to talk to than a bunch of assembled colonels, all bristling with protocol and nodding their heads in unison. Lucy actually entered into meaningful conversation.

But as always, wherever he went or whatever he did, there was an expectation for him to answer questions. The world had a strange preoccupation with the colonisation of the moon and couldn't hear enough about it. So, before he could tell Lucy how much he'd missed her or make any plans to meet her for the evening, he was being motioned to wrap up the call. The colonels were ready for him now and the meeting needed to run to schedule.

She'd been just as understanding then, too, as he faltered on the end of the line, unwilling to say goodbye. She knew he couldn't help it if the visiting colonels needed to pack thirty-eight hours into a twenty-four-hour working day. She realised that he had a job to do.

"It's all right, Jeff," the happy, vibrant voice had said. "I can wait a few more hours to see you..." Then the mischievous invitation he was starting to come to expect. "...on the condition that you promise me my own personal ride to the moon when I do."

He grimaced now as he'd grimaced then. His stomach was tying itself up in knots again. Those open invitations of hers made him crazy; so crazy; in fact, it was really starting to scare him. He honestly didn't know what would happen between them if he gave himself permission to do more than just hold Lucy Evans hand. It was bad enough controlling how he'd felt the night he finally built up the courage to kiss her. He'd tossed and turned in bed for hours after that. It wasn't easy trying to keep his mind off what it would be like to experience something more.

His imagination starting running away with him again ... the soft fullness of her lips ... the delightful scent of her skin... the swell of her breasts only just visible above the simple neckline of her dress. Damn it, he breathed, rolling over onto his stomach in discomfort; a man was going to need a cold shower soon if he didn't settle down.

The worst part was, none of this was supposed to have happened in the first place. He still couldn't understand why he had let it. When he and the other astronauts visited London five months ago, all he was expected to do was be courteous to the British military and attend a reception to answer their questions. One night only, he was told; a quick tour of London, then on to a reception in Paris to do the exact same thing and back to Houston again.

For a while, being courteous and answering questions were the only things he did. The room was crowded and despite the myriad of dignitaries and faces he couldn't put names to, he was tolerating what he considered to be nothing more than just another personal interrogation.

Until he saw her...

...and she had completely taken his breath away.

At first it had only been a physical attraction; a pretty girl standing alone in the middle of a loaded military reception…great body... nice chestnut coloured hair. Something told him she would be so much more than a diversion from the bore of military conversation.

But it had turned out to be more than that.

Lucille Evans, or Lucy as she preferred to be called, turned out to have the most amazing ability to draw him into her confidence. She was gentle, honest and kind. For the first time in months he'd felt himself relax and be comfortable.

And she made him laugh. He liked that a lot.

It didn't take long to sense that physical attraction wasn't the only thing drawing him to Miss Lucy Evans. She made him feel something he wasn't familiar with; something which made his heart pound faster; something which actually frightened him.

Something which left him in no doubt that he needed to see her again.

Five months later, seeing her again was the only thing he could think about. It didn't matter if he was flying the simulator, driving his car or hitting the engineering books. All he could imagine was Lucy; how she had looked in the middle of that reception and how comfortable he was whenever he was with her.

His parents hadn't been able to believe it either when he'd admitted that he thought he might be in love with her. His father had said the whole thing sounded a little crazy. Love needed time to develop if he wanted it to last, and it didn't develop properly in the space of three short hours with a girl on the other side of the world.

His mother had said it certainly sounded like Lucy had made quite an impression on him, but not to get his hopes up about it lasting. He had to remember that he lived in Houston, which was a long way from London, and long distance relationships didn't really work. Besides, there were expectations of him now in the space program, and those would take all his time and attention in the months to come.

He hadn't liked hearing what either of them had to say, and in fact, for a while he was very unhappy about it. However, common sense soon told him the exact same thing. He was being ridiculous. He had to focus on his training. There was no time to devote to a woman...any woman if he wanted to live his dream.

So why hadn't he ended it?

Why hadn't he called Lucy Evans to say thanks but no thanks; he had a job he needed to do for his country?

He knew why and it was pointless trying to deny it.

He was in love with her and no matter what obstacles there were to overcome, he was going to do his utmost to overcome them.

Even if they did live on opposite sides of the world and had only met four times.


	4. Chapter 4

"A MOST INCONVENIENT OBSESSION"

CHAPTER THREE

* * *

Lucy smiled happily to herself as her classy little red sports car hummed its way back home. Her world was the most wonderful place to be in at the moment and with Jeff back in London making it more wonderful than ever, she was enjoying every single bit of it.

Heads turned as the car motored past.

Whilst not new, the glossy red car certainly was impressive. It had been an unexpected gift from her parents last year; "A_ reward_", as her father put it, "_for making it to your__twenty-first birthday without ending up as part of some crazy circus act somewhere or shackled to that "man" Ewan Brown."_

The pointed inference to Ewan Brown only made her smile grow deeper. Thinking back, she didn't know what she'd ever seen in that man. He was nothing, whatsoever, like Jeff. He didn't have Jeff's upright stance or deep, authoritative voice. He didn't have ambition, either, or any of those wonderful ideas on how the world needed to change to make life better for future generations.

But Jeff did. Jeff was amazing. She could sit and listen to him talk for hours and hours and hours.

And he was sweet, no matter what the rest of the world said.

The press might be fooled into believing there was only one side to the cool, suave, self-assured Captain Jefferson Grant Tracy; but she, for one, knew otherwise. Behind all the bravado and the steely hard-nosed nerve hid a thoughtful, kind and sensitive man who just didn't like too much publicity. Sometimes she wished he would tell people that, rather than retreating behind a façade they incorrectly perceived to be arrogance, courtesy of his abrupt, one-word replies.

All of a sudden she began to laugh.

Well, if Captain Tracy was supposed to be arrogant, he definitely didn't display too many signs of it in his hotel this afternoon. What self-respecting young captain could afford to be arrogant about anything after being caught in the hallway wearing nothing but a starchy, white towel?

_"Room service!" _

It had been hard to stifle a naughty grin as she knocked on the door of the unobtrusive hotel room tucked away in the corner of the fourteenth floor. Jeff loved his privacy and always went to great lengths to check into the most inconspicuous hotels, often requesting a room near a back entrance, so he could come and go as he pleased.

This visit had been no exception.

It hadn't been easy for her to get his room number.

"Mr. Tracy has issued explicit instructions that he isn't to be disturbed, young lady," snapped the stuffy, long-necked hotel manager who, despite her genuine smile and great politeness, had no intention of divulging any information he had about his celebrity, overnight guest.

"I'm sorry," he'd sniffed, returning to his paperwork. "I'm afraid I am unable to help you."

The grin broke through as Lucy recalled the nameplate on the desk. How easily those types of people tended to become unnerved. For all his airs and graces, "Cedric" didn't know what to say when she'd tapped the bell again and informed him that he had to give her the room number. After all, she had been sent by one of "London's finest agencies."

"Look, Cedric …you don't mind me calling you Cedric, do you? As you can appreciate, Mr. Tracy is upstairs waiting for me and you are correct in saying he doesn't want to be disturbed," she'd added, watching his face grow scarlet. "The floor and room number if you don't mind. Mr. Tracy won't be pleased if I have to tell him a lack of co-operation from hotel reception is the reason why I'm late for our appointment."

_Room 503__._ Turn left out of the elevator and the last room down the hallway on the right. Poor Cedric nearly threw up all over his perfect Armani suit before providing her with the information.

At first Jeff didn't respond to the sharp tap on the door but the sound of running water soon told her that she had caught him taking a shower.

Right on cue and in response to a louder knock; the water had abruptly stopped.

Silence followed.

The silence went on for so long she'd had to press her fist against her mouth to stop herself from laughing. She could just imagine Jeff standing there in a panic, dripping wet, not knowing what he should do.

_"Room service," _she'd called again.

"I... err... think there must be some sort of mistake, ma'am," he'd finally faltered, still from the safety of the bathroom. "I don't remember ordering any room service when I checked in."

For a few moments she'd felt guilty for stringing him along with the deception. He was trying ever so hard to be polite to her, even in the face of adversity.

_"So__,__ Mr. Tracy __**isn't**__ in Room 503, then?"_

Her agitation was impressive and every bit the manner of the impatient hotel employee, no doubt courtesy of playing parts in what her father had said were one too many amateur theatrical productions.

The agitated tone had been convincing, and much to her delight, it had worked. Before long, she'd heard a groan from the bathroom, hurried footsteps towards the bed and the sound of rummaging in earnest. "My key does say I should be staying in this room, ma'am," he'd called out, when the rummaging stopped.

_"So, you __**are **__Mr. Tracy then?"_

"Yes, ma'am."

"_Mr. Tracy in Room 503?"_

"Yes, ma'am. That's me."

"_Well, if that's the case, sir,__ then this room service is for you." _

"Ma'am, honest ...I didn't order any..."

_"Mr. Tracy, if you don't mind please just open the door. This is an extremely busy hotel." _

Once she'd made it clear she wasn't prepared to argue, a worried and red-faced Jeff soon appeared from behind the door, head down, short hair sticking straight up and a towel hurriedly wrapped around his waist. He was really very sorry to cause inconvenience to the hotel. He was really sorry that he'd held her up as well_. _He must have been tired when he came in, or something, and forgotten he'd…

_"Lucy!" _he'd then exhaled, in a mixture of surprise and delight.

"Hello, Mr. Tracy," she'd winked; her face a picture of perfect innocence. "How kind of you to decide it was worthwhile answering the door."

At first, all he did was shake his head at her and marvel at how easily he'd been fooled. Then his face broadened into the most wide and wonderful smile.

"So, you don't want me, huh?" she began to tease him, leaning against the wall and crossing her arms in front of her chest. "That's not a very nice way to treat the girl who's made the decision to come halfway way around the world to be with you."

Jeff's smile faded as the words sank in.

"_What?_" he'd gasped, striding out into the hallway to grasp her shoulders. "You mean you've decided to come to Houston, Lucy? _Honest?_"

Two disbelieving eyes had wildly searched hers.

Memories of their last parting surfaced in her mind. The shy admission of his love barely uttered, he'd taken her by complete surprise when he'd asked her to come and spend some time with him in Houston. His apartment wasn't all that luxurious, he'd stumbled on anxiously; but it was clean and fairly comfortable.

"I'd take good care of you, Lucy and you can use my car whenever you want, "he'd promised her. "I don't know Houston all that well myself yet but I like the idea of us both getting lost there together."

Then, before she'd had the chance to answer him, he'd swung away and started to head back to his hotel. No, she could forget it. It was a long shot, stupid; something a man with any inkling of common sense knew didn't have a hope of ever working out. His parents were right. He didn't know what the hell had gotten into him. He was going back to Houston first thing in the morning before he made an even bigger idiot of himself.

"I'd like to think about it, Jeff," she'd then called after him, the shadows between them echoing with her customary calmness. Instinct had already told her that calm was the only way to deal with his brash side. To her, the brashness was a poor disguise; a front he hid behind when he was frustrated, angry or afraid. Up until that night he had only used it for the reporters. Now he was trying to fool her.

But when Captain Jefferson Grant Tracy had stopped walking and looked back at her that night, she knew her observations were right. He wasn't angry at himself or feeling like a fool. He was genuinely afraid that she was going to say no to him and everything between them would end.

"I'd like to think about it," she'd repeated firmly and had offered him her hand.

And true to her word, she had thought about it...lying on her bed in the evenings … all day long at work… sitting at the piano and staring into space. She'd thought about nothing else but what it would be like to get to know Jeff Tracy better, even if it did mean she had to go all the way to Houston in order to do it.

** _I__'ll__ understand if you decide you don't want to be with me Lucy...** _the lines of his emails read. **_I know more than anyone how dangerous the new lunar __mission's __going to be and I guess you've already figured out the money I make isn't all that great. Not when you weigh it all up against the risks. **_

Lines written with honesty; designed to make it easy for her break the ties if she wanted their relationship to end. Lines which, as the weeks drew on, only made her more determined to be in Houston by his side.

So what else could she do but look up, smile, and nod her head at the handsome astronaut who had stolen her heart from the very most moment she'd met him?

Yes, she had decided to come to Houston. Yes, she did want to be with him. And yes, she knew the training program didn't pay all that well, but money wasn't everything in life, was it? Life was about being happy and sharing it, especially with someone she had grown to love.

She wasn't sure at what point her feet left the ground or exactly when the room began to spin out of control. But she was sure about one thing. She had just made Jeff a very happy man. He'd laughed and squeezed her close to him, ignoring her squeals to put her down as the room went round and round and round. Unfortunately, neither of them happened to notice the two elderly women peering through the door on the opposite side of the hall.

"Disgraceful," said one.

"And in a public place too," tutted the other.

Poor Jeff; until he realized that he had an audience, his face had only been red from an excess of steam in the bathroom. Now, looking down at the towel which hung precariously off his hips, his face was almost scarlet.

"Maybe we should finish this ... err discussion ...inside," she'd smirked after they glared and slammed the door. "Unless of course you rather like the idea of entertaining little old ladies with what's underneath that towel."

There was one thing Jeff Tracy couldn't manage to disguise with brashness and that was a dose of good, old-fashioned embarrassment. He couldn't believe he had almost exposed himself in public and had turned away in a complete panic, trying to clutch at what little still remained of his decency. It didn't help when he'd then ended up face to face with Cedric who had rounded the corner seconds earlier, armed with a handful of messages.

Cedric took one look at Jeff desperately trying to adjust himself before his mouth fell open in disbelief. Jeff's mouth had already returned the compliment and neither of them knew where to look.

"I... I can explain, "Jeff had stammered; no longer sure which would be the safest way for him to turn.

Cedric had looked him up and down as he strode forward to hand him the messages.

"The young lady already has already explained everything, Mr. Tracy," he'd frowned, "and may I suggest your room would be a much more seemly place to confine the nature of such activities."

Jeff's eyes immediately grew wide with horror. "_Pardon me__,__ sir?"_

But Cedric wasn't having any part of Jeff's confused innocence. He'd stood like a statue in the middle of the hallway, making it very clear he wasn't moving until the two of them retreated to the privacy of Jeff's hotel room. Jeff moved so fast, he'd almost pulled her arm out of its socket in the rush to drag her through the door.

"Don't ask," she'd laughed as the door closed behind them. By the look Jeff threw her on his way back into the bathroom, it was obvious he wasn't so sure he even wanted to hear the explanation.

Lucy began to laugh out loud as the car rounded the corner and her journey home neared its end. Despite everything, she had really enjoyed the reunion with Jeff … every single part of it.

Once he'd softened a little and forgiven her for compromising his reputation, she'd felt herself being swept back up into the security of his arms. No harm done, he'd supposed and he guessed the whole thing was kind of funny. It was probably the most exciting thing to happen to Cedric in years and who would believe two little old ladies who probably forgot what room they were staying in, anyway?

However, he'd warned, gently tilting her chin to his; she wouldn't be able to continue to do this sort of thing when she came to live with him in Houston. In Houston there were reporters everywhere and the only thing they seemed to want to know about at the moment was what was personal in the life of Captain Jeff Tracy. She would have to be very careful if she wanted to stay out of the papers in Houston.

"Oh I will, will I?" she'd grinned up at him, deciding he was more handsome than ever when he was trying to be serious. The dimple in his chin became so much more pronounced when he held his jaw firm and she loved how the authority seemed to glimmer in his eyes.

There was no mistaking the authority that glimmered there now.

Yes she would have to be careful, and yes, he did mean what he was saying. When she came to Houston, he wanted their relationship to be special and it couldn't be unless it was private.

She knew when his eyes never left hers that the time for fun was over.

"I know that Jeff," she'd whispered, and this time her response was serious.

Their lips melded together not much longer after that; his no longer hesitant, hers no longer unsure. Jeff Tracy was allowing her access to his private world and she trembled at the thought of what that world contained; especially what it was going to be like getting to know him as a man. His mouth explored hers for what seemed like hours, continuing with a breathless intensity until a gasp from deep within her throat pleaded with him to stop.

"I'm sorry," he'd murmured, releasing her.

"No …I don't want you to be," she'd heard herself reply.

Reliving those moments of sheer electricity were enough to send a shiver down Lucy's back as she pulled her little red sports car into the driveway of her parent's home.

He was so handsome, so considerate, so wonderful, and so brave.

And if he could make her feel half of what she had felt in his hotel room this afternoon, she wouldn't be able to get to Houston fast enough.

* * *

"Mom?"

The voice on the other end of the line was tired and strained and nothing like the loving greeting she usually received from her son.

It took less than ten seconds for the panic to set in, almost causing Josephine Tracy to drop the plate of sandwiches she was carrying right into the middle of Grant's lap. Jeff pushed himself far too hard, too often and the last thing she wanted to imagine right now was what might happen if he took control of one of those fast flying aircrafts.

"Yes, honey, it's me," she replied, forcing herself to hide her concern. "What's wrong? You don't usually call in the middle of the day."

Grant Tracy rose to his feet and frowned as he moved to relieve her of the sandwiches. She threw him an apologetic smile, knowing full well the frown was a warning. Grant was always telling her not to smother Jeff with fifteen thousand questions when he called.

The fact that Jeff hesitated only made her worry about things even more. What had gone and happened this time? She sighed and readied herself for an explosion.

Last week he'd worked himself up into a terrible state. He'd called his father in the middle of the night, firing on all cylinders, furious about a newspaper report he'd managed to pick up in Houston. It had focused on his Kansas upbringing and his father's day to day life on the farm. The report had been very complimentary to Grant, and in fact had the capacity to make him quite a celebrity in the county. But that wasn't the way Jeff saw it. To him it was another unnecessary invasion of his family's privacy. He'd sworn that he was going to have something to say the moment he got off the line. He didn't care what time of the day or night it was. Was privacy so much for a man to ask? Why couldn't the press leave his family alone?

"Settle down, son," Grant had intervened, adopting his usual common sense approach to the problem. "There's no harm been done to anyone here. You just forget about what people find the need to say about us and get on with doing what you know you're supposed to do."

Jeff hadn't been too convinced, but at least Grant was able to breathe a sigh of relief that he'd listened long enough to see sense. It seemed to be just one thing after the next for Jeff at the moment…first the hype surrounding his inclusion in the mission so soon after making the space program; then all that business with the girl. At least he hadn't had much to say about her over the last few weeks. For a while there they thought Jeff was being serious when he said that he thought he was in love with her.

Josephine frowned and began to tap her fingers on the table. Patience had never been one of her virtues and it was sorely being tested now. Why wasn't Jeff saying anything? Didn't he think a call to his parents in the middle of a training session would be considered more than a little unusual?

"Jeff?" she enquired again, "Are you OK, honey?"

"Yeah; sorry, Mom. Of course I'm OK." The voice seemed more preoccupied than ever. "I just need to talk to Dad about something, that's all. I figured it should be lunch time in Kansas right about now."

Josephine opened her mouth to ask him what the blazes he was talking about. Of course it was lunch time in Kansas. It was lunch time in Texas, too, wasn't it? She was really starting to worry about some of the things Jeff was saying, lately. Maybe he was working too hard again and needed to get a bit more sleep? "

"Mom, I will. Just as soon as I get back to Houston," he promised her wearily. "Now please ... can I talk to Dad for a few minutes? I'm sorry. It's kind of urgent and I'm on a pretty strict deadline."

"_Back_to Houston?" she queried and her stomach started to feel uneasy. "Jeff, honey, where exactlyare you right now?"

It didn't please her in the least when he hesitated before admitting he'd taken another opportunity to fly to London. There was this new long distance jet that needed testing by the Air Force and as she knew, there were always questions for him to answer about the Moon Colonization Project.

"Now what in the world possessed you to do that? You only said last week how much you hated publicity."

"I know Mom. I do but it's kind of a long story..."

All of a sudden things clicked. Long story? Yes…she could bet it was…and it didn't require too much ingenuity to figure out who the central character was, either.

"He's back in London again," she mouthed unhappily before extending the phone in Grant's direction. "Looks like the thing with the girl's back on."

"Oh Josie, it is _not,_" Grant growled, grasping the receiver out of her hand.

Jeff found himself swallowing as he waited for his Father to say something. It wasn't going to be easy telling him Lucy had agreed to move in with him when he barely even knew her. Worse still, he had no idea how he was going to break the news to his mother. He could just imagine the lecture on respect right now.

_*What ever happened to good old fashioned family values, Jefferson? I swear old Grandpa Daniel would be turning in his grave.* _

But the reaction of his parents was the least of his worries at the moment.

Cedric had delivered more than a few simple messages when he'd caught him in the hallway with Lucy this afternoon.

Cedric had delivered the unexpected.

"Dad, I really need your advice, "he began after his Father's gruff voice cut through the telephone. "I have to meet someone for a drink in less than half an hour and I'm not quite sure what I should do."


	5. Chapter 5

_Author's Note – With my sincere thanks to Jaimi-Sam and to Lee, without whose advice, writing expertise and continual nagging, this chapter would have never made it. _

* * *

"A MOST INCONVENIENT OBSESSION"

CHAPTER FOUR

* * *

It didn't come as any great surprise to Lucy when she opened up the front door to find her grandmother's overnight case lying in the entrance hall. The way her parents had reacted to her decision to leave London to be with Jeff, she wouldn't have expected any less. Her mother always resorted to calling in the backup when a family situation hit boiling point and boiling point was definitely the right word for the way things were after last night's volatile discussion.

Lucy quietly closed the door behind her and began to unbutton her coat.

Not that last night had been any sort of opportunity to enter into a meaningful discussion. Her mother's eyes had welled up the moment living in Houston was mentioned and when her father had declared that he was finally convinced she was crazy, all hope of explaining why she'd made her decision had gone completely out the window.

"Lucy, you're not thinking straight," was all her mother could say over and over again while she and her father argued over his take on her relationship with Jeff for the next three quarters of an hour.

The things her father had insinuated were ridiculous.

He hardly knew anything about Jeff or his family background, let alone the sensitive and intuitive man he was. How could her father possibly know those things when Jeff had only conversed with him for one brief moment at the beginning of a reception?

_And _her father hadn't listened to him. He'd been too busy making sure all the protocols were being observed; that everyone who was anyone had been properly introduced and he had the appropriate drink in his hand. Of course, that was only until he'd inadvertently observed Captain Tracy spending far too much time talking to his daughter. Protocol couldn't be abandoned fast enough, then. All of a sudden his number one priority had been nothing more than to see her bundled into the back seat of the nearest car.

Lucy clamped down on her lip as she remembered the embarrassing experience.

Her father's over-protectiveness really frustrated her at times and so did his intractable opinions. He didn't want to know that Jeff was hardworking and honest or that he was a funny and interesting person to listen to with all his stories about the Air Force and growing up on the family farm.

She'd told him so, too, and she'd held nothing back. If he'd taken the time to a have a proper conversation with Jeff he would already know that there was nothing for anybody to worry about. Yes, Jeff was American. Yes, he was American Air Force. That didn't mean anything when it came down to being a decent person, did it? She couldn't believe he was still being so rigid and biased. He was the man with the problem, not Jeff.

With that, she clamped down on her lip even deeper.

Maybe she shouldn't have gone so far as to say that, but she knew every single word of it was true. Her father had never had any time for American Air Force men for as long as she could remember and that was really unfair to someone like Jeff.

He also might not know it yet but he was about to change his mind very quickly about the kind of man he perceived Jeff Tracy to be. Jeff had been hesitant, not all that sure about the reception he was going to get, but he'd said that he knew it was something he needed to do before leaving London to return to the States. His parents would be expecting to meet her too, the very first opportunity he got to travel to Kansas.

His smile had been genuine. The touch to her cheek had reassured. Of course he'd make himself available to have dinner with her parents tonight. Even though all this had happened to them so fast, he knew he couldn't expect to whisk her away unless the two of them were comfortable that he would take care of her.

"And who knows?" he'd joked. "They might even like me."

She'd laughed and said she would expect him at the house "no later than quarter past eight."

"_Darling, you're home!"_

The three words and the artificial cheerfulness that went with them soon snapped Lucy out of her pleasant daydream about Jeff. Her body stiffened as her grandmother's arms wrapped around her.

"Hello Gran," she replied and only partly returned the gesture. "Somehow I had the feeling you'd be waiting for me when I came in from work tonight."

Abigail frowned and held her at arm's length.

"And may I ask what's wrong with that then, Miss Lucille? You, of all people should know by now that I always jump at any invitation to come over and have dinner."

"Gran, don't," Lucy grumbled. "You know as well as I do that Mum's only invited you over because she thinks you can to get me to change my mind about Jeff."

Abigail startled at Lucy's uncharacteristic coldness. There was no amused, "Sure you do, Gran" rolling of eyes or the hint of one of her knowing smiles. Her grand-daughter's face was tense and deadly serious. It was pointless for Abigail to be anything but honest.

"All right, then. I confess," she admitted just as seriously. "Your mother did call me this morning to ask me to come over and talk to you about Jeff. She's very upset about what happened between you and your father last night and thinks it's a good idea for everyone to sit down rationally and have a proper chat about your plans."

Lucy's look of disapproval could be every bit as daunting as her father's and more when the situation warranted it.

"Look Gran, there's no need for everyone to have a proper chat about anything," she stressed, moving towards the base of the polished wooden staircase. "I'm going to Houston to be with Jeff and Dad just needs to trust my judgement. And so are..."

She checked herself.

"...and so is anyone else who thinks I haven't thought this through," she ended quietly.

It was exactly the response that Abigail had expected. Lucille had always been determined to do things her way, even as a little girl. She had also proven on more than one occasion that once she'd made up her mind about something, she didn't back away from the decision easily. Maybe "sitting down rationally" had been the wrong choice of words. The girl already felt she was being rational.

"Darling, I didn't come over here to ask you to re-think the decision," she said as an unhappy Lucy started up the stairs. "You know very well that I've always seen both sides of this situation."

The response, and its sincerity, soon relaxed the tension so evident on the pretty, finely-sculptured features. Half-way up the stairs, Lucy stopped. Her wary dark brown eyes looked back to meet Abigail's.

" I'm sorry Gran," she sighed and the sigh was one of frustration." I didn't mean to be rude or start sounding like Dad. You _have _always said that there's nothing wrong with me being involved with Jeff and I'm grateful for that. You know I am."

Abigail didn't reply, preferring a non-committal shrug and moving to rescue the glass of brandy she'd left teetering on the edge of the coffee table. She certainly might have said it and more than once, too, but she wasn't so sure that she still wanted Lucy to believe it. The brandy inside her said it was time someone sat the girl down and explained in detail what being involved with someone like Jeff Tracy meant. The rest of her said that as the daughter of the Air Force Chief of Air Staff, Lucy knew very well what it meant; had made her decision and she wasn't wasting any time getting on with it.

But the last thing her father's career needed at the moment was rumour of some sort of crazy elopement.

"Gran?" Lucy seemed puzzled by her lack of confirmation. "You _do_ still think I should be involved with him, don't you?"

Abigail hesitated and then resisted the urge to blurt out her thoughts by taking rather large mouthful of her drink. She had never met this Jeff, and despite her current reservations, had always been the one to stubbornly insist that it was wrong to judge a person unless there was every good reason for the bias.

"Well, of course you should still be involved with him, Lucille," she quipped, trying to make it sound like there was never any question about it. "The Captain has an exciting and wonderful future. Who knows where the moon colonisation will take him."

Lucy nodded, satisfied. "Exactly what I think too, and that's why I made the decision to invite him over to have dinner with us tonight. I want Mum to meet him and for Dad to see for himself just what an amazing man Jeff really is. "

Abigail smiled tightly and glanced towards the kitchen. This was going to be interesting. Somehow she didn't think Catherine was going to like hearing about Lucille's sudden little invitation. Catherine didn't like entertaining at the best of times let alone without any notice. She needed time to agonise over table settings, fret with menus and change her clothes at least three times. News like this would be the catalyst for a meltdown.

Abigail couldn't let that happen.

Not when she knew how John was going to react, as well.

She made a quick decision and then drained her glass. She and the brandy would just have to handle Catherine. Once Catherine was calm, she'd move onto the next hurdle…John. Now, that was going to be a project and a half.

"I think that's the most wonderful idea darling," she told Lucille. "I'll let your mother know that we should expect him."

* * *

He had to admit that Tracy cut an impressive figure even when he wasn't wearing his uniform. Tall, broad-shouldered and muscular, Tracy moved with a quiet confidence through the crowded hotel bar; wearing a crisp cotton shirt unbuttoned at the collar and what looked to be a pair of navy blue jeans.

People in the bar recognised Tracy immediately and some started whispering behind their hands. Rumour had said that the World Space Agency's new high profile recruit was on the guest list of one of the nearby hotels. Perhaps they thought there might be a story or a photo opportunity, somewhere. If the other rumours flying around about Tracy were also true, they probably hoped to be lucky enough to catch a glimpse of the woman he was supposed to be involved with.

He watched as Tracy ignored all the stares and continued towards his table in the darkest corner of the bar. The earlier glance at his watch seemed to have bothered him more than the craning of necks and the whispers. Fifteen minutes late for an appointment simply wasn't Tracy's style, especially with a reputation that he timed things right down to the very split second.

"Meet me for a drink – Lounge Bar – 18:30 – Corner Table."

Frankly, he was surprised that Tracy had bothered to show up at all. He'd avoided all opportunity to have a conversation with him during this afternoon's briefing session. The urgency to visit the bathroom; the need to go over his notes; the cell phone stuck to his ear for almost half an hour; nothing but a firm handshake and a polite acknowledgement of his head as he'd left the base for his hotel. All of it a clear message that he had no intention of discussing his relationship with Lucille in a public place, even if it was with one of her parents. Private at times to the point of cold; a certain confidence or maybe it was arrogance. That was what the papers were saying about the mannerisms of Jeff Tracy and after today, John Evans was prepared to believe every single word of it.

"Good evening, sir. I'm sorry I'm late."

"Good evening, Captain," he acknowledged, ignoring Tracy's outstretched hand. "I had started to think you were still finding it difficult to fit me into your very busy schedule."

He was pleased his sarcasm didn't go unnoticed and that Tracy had the good grace to flinch. He even looked uncomfortable for a few minutes and seemed nervous as he scanned the room, clearly worried about spectators observing their discussion.

"I'm sorry, sir," he apologised again, in a voice deep with calm and control. "I'm afraid I was having a conversation with my father back in my hotel room, and I lost all track of the time."

John wanted to say that time wasn't the only thing that Tracy had lost track of at the moment but decided to hold his tongue for a more opportune moment to occur. It was better to take his time with what he had come here to say to Tracy. No sense allowing a scandal to develop by losing his temper and making a scene in such a public place.

"Sit down, Captain," he said, pointing to the chair directly opposite him. "What can I get you? "

"A scotch, please, sir," was the polite reply. "Neat if you don't mind. No ice."

He acknowledged the waiting bar attendant and reached into the pocket of his suit coat to pull out two crisp ten pound notes.

"Fine; I'll have the same, then."

The minutes that followed were awkward for both of them. Tracy offered nothing more than his usual one-liners and the last thing John cared to discuss was the changes they'd experienced in the weather since the last time Tracy had been in London.

The tension eased when their drinks arrived and they could both take refuge in their glasses. Tracy fidgeted and swirled the liquor around in his glass, waiting for him to take the first drink. He sat pretending to assess the colour, quality and aroma of the scotch; not prepared to start before Tracy did.

"My father could never take to the whiskies," Tracy finally offered; trying to start the conversation. "He says my liking for them must have stemmed from some strange preoccupation to fit in with the Texas lifestyle."

"Is that so, Captain?" he queried with genuine interest. "And just what does this Texas lifestyle consist of, if you don't mind me asking?"

The scar on Tracy's chin suddenly became more pronounced. The glass in his hand moved away from his mouth.

"I can understand why you'd want to ask me a question like that, sir," he replied after a long and thoughtful hesitation, "but I'm not all that sure where you'd like me to start."

"Start anywhere."

Tracy nodded and took the first drink.

"All right, sir. You probably know that when the Air Force released me last summer, the Space Agency moved me directly to Houston. Since then I've been living in a rented apartment not far from where I'm training. It's not all that impressive when you compare it to a lot of others in the area but like I told Lucy last month it's clean, and most importantly, it's affordable. Unlike a lot of people I work with in the Agency I have no intentions of getting myself into debt."

Then he smiled a little and made another half-hearted attempt to joke. "Except what I figure I'll probably owe the Space Agency for all the opportunities that they've been giving to me. I think I'll be spending the rest of my life trying to repay that kind of debt."

John's face remained stoically unmoved.

"Yes, you've certainly been given your fair share of opportunity, Captain," he agreed. "But, as Lucille's father, I'm much more interested in what you do with yourself _outside_ the Space Agency. I'm sure you can appreciate that I have a lot of unanswered questions about you, some of which have the potential to still be hotly pursued by the papers."

Tracy failed to hide an annoyed frown but it was very quickly disguised.

"What kinds of questions, Mr Evans?" The tone had a distinct edge to it, as he replied. "Do you mean the type I refuse to answer these days because they have nothing to do with the moon colonisation?"

John already knew through his various connections that Tracy had already made it clear to the press this week that he would no longer respond to anything he was asked about his family or his private life. He was adamant that he should only be expected to discuss the Space Agency's involvement in the new lunar project, not talk about the kind of books he read, what he ate for lunch last Monday or his shoe size when he was ten. Under normal circumstances, John would have agreed that Tracy had every right to demand the privacy. The press could be way too invasive at times. But as far as this situation with Lucille was concerned, Tracy was in no position to demand anything from anybody.

John pushed his glass to one side, balled his fists together and leaned forward to make himself clear.

"Questions that involve your increasingly public relationship with my daughter," he spelt out. "Questions you managed to avoid by ignoring me at the briefing this afternoon and ones to which I am expecting some answers."

There was silence as Tracy contemplated him carefully, almost as if he was acknowledging an opponent in a chess match. Calculating, perceptive, composed, cool, it didn't seem to faze him that he was the target of such directness.

"Mr Evans," he said, "I apologise for what happened at the briefing this afternoon. I had a lot to contend with when I arrived at your base and no-one had informed me that you'd be attending."

"I am the Chief of Air Staff, Captain. I attend whatever I choose to attend."

"Yes sir, I'm fully aware of that and if I'd been notified a little earlier I'd have ..."

John cut him off.

"You'd have what, _Captain_? Finally taken the time to inform me in person that you are intending to take my daughter to Houston to live with you?"

Tracy sat back, shook his head and refused to lose his annoying, icy calm.

"No, I'd have made a point of rearranging my schedule so that I had the opportunity to explain why I'd asked her to consider it in the first place."

He had to be one of the most impressive under pressure that John Evans had ever met in the ranks. He knew exactly what to say and the right time to say it. The Space Agency had certainly schooled him well. It was the one thing which really irritated John; part of his initial objection to Lucille becoming involved with Tracy in the first place. The history books were already full of examples of smooth talking American pilots eager for a good time with women. Did Tracy take him to be some kind of fool when it came to all this? The reception five months ago had been enough for him to see the way it was.

"You will not be taking my daughter anywhere." The statement left no opportunity for any kind of compromise. "You and I both know that this is a ridiculous situation and one that's gone on for too long. Go and live your dream, Captain. Go and risk your live in space. I'm sure you'll be extremely good at whatever the Space Agency chooses for you to do. But you can do all of it without involving my daughter. I hope that I am making myself clear. "

Tracy sat back and ran his fingers over the glossy surface of the table between them. He picked up his glass and swallowed what was left of the scotch. He shot a glance at the bartender and checked to see if anyone was behind him. Then he looked up and met him squarely in the eyes.

"With respect, Mr Evans, I don't believe that anyone but Lucy has the right to make that kind of decision."

"And with _your _respect, _Captain_, you haven't known her long enough to even expect you have the right to ask her to make it."

"I'm not disputing that you might be right about that sir, but as far as I'm concerned, the decision should be Lucy's all the same."

Two hours at a reception, a night in Paris filling her head with goodness knows what, six hours here, twelve hours there...

John saw red. He was ending this now.

"Let me be frank, Tracy. I am very well aware that you find my daughter attractive and do you know what? I can't say that I blame you. What _you_ need to understand is that I wasn't born yesterday and I intend to safeguard her welfare. She might think she knows you and I'm more than sure that your invitation has the potential to provide you with a great deal of amusement. But the fact is, Tracy, Lucille _doesn't _know you and I find your invitation objectionable."

Tracy's hand tightened around the bottom of the empty glass like he was about to strangle it. John saw the unmistakable flash of anger in his eyes. The longer he gripped the glass the more John was convinced that he had read this situation accurately. He was _not_ going to stand back and allow this man to take advantage of his daughter. Not if he had anything to do with it.

After a few dangerous minutes Tracy trusted himself to resume the conversation. The dangerous flash was controlled. But in its place John recognised something which was even more dangerous; something which indicated what he just might be up against if Tracy decided to make this a fight.

"Mr Evans," he warned. The voice was still calm; still clear, "my father taught me a lot when I was growing up on that wheat farm. He taught me how to look for the good in people. He gave me values and above all, he encouraged me to think. He also taught me when to respect the value of other people's opinions if I expected them to start respecting my own."

Tracy's mouth then closed and he pushed the glass away from him.

"So, is that your final word, Tracy?"

Tracy glared past him and remained resolutely silent.

"Well," John replaced his own glass on the table. "if that's the case Captain, you and I did not have this conversation."

John Evans then left the bar.


End file.
